The Scientist and his Wife
by fiesa
Summary: Their relationship is just too harmonic to be true. Lewis and Cleo from the eyes of the world, years later. OneShot.


**The Scientist and his Wife**

_Summary: Their relationship is just too harmonic to be true. Lewis and Cleo from the eyes of the world, many years later. OneShot._

_Warning: Is it just me thinking they are a really, really cute couple that could overcome _anything_? Hence a warning for fluff. Also, this is a One Shot._

_Set: story-unrelated, future-fic_

_Disclaimer: Standards apply. _

_Für Alex, immer und überall._

_

* * *

_

They were odd.

Not strange, or weird. Strange implied they weren't normal, weird hinted at something unusual and slightly negative. No, _odd_ definitely was the word for it and Scott Weber was quite sure he wasn't the only one who thought like that.

The young oceanographer-in-training looked up from his latest project – he was single-handedly drawing a map of the ocean's bed near the coast and was pretty proud at the result so far – and found himself face to face with his boss.

"Scott, want to join us on a trip today?"

Scott brushed his unruly dark hair out of his face and felt his interest sparking.

"Are you taking a trip to the fissures on the other side of the island?"

Dr. Lewis McCartney, his superior, nodded, the usual enigmatic smile playing on his lips. His blond hair was short and bleached from the sun and the weather, his skin tanned but smooth. Scott had overheard the girls in the Cafeteria of the Santa Ana Oceanographic Institute giggling and whispering at his sight. This man was what women called _good-looking_, no doubts. But that, unfortunately, meant whenever Scott and his boss entered the cafeteria, the waitresses and female scientists would crane their necks to look at the older man, not at Scott.

He was getting used to it, but sometimes it annoyed him to no ends. They knew he wasn't even near their age any more, did they? They knew he was _married_, did they? They knew he didn't even throw a spare glance in the direction of a woman that wasn't his wife, did they? And yet the instant Lewis McCartney entered a room, all gazes turned to him and nobody seemed to see his tall, lanky, limping assistant who followed him closely. But on the other hand Lewis was the best oceanographer Scott had ever known in his considerably few years of studying and learning and he was proud he had been chosen from the huge pool of aspiring young scientists to assist this great man.

Now, he threw a look at his wrist-watch and saw it was already two o'clock. God – where had the time gone? He had been so engrossed in his project he had even forgotten to have lunch. Right on cue, his stomach grumbled and he blushed. His fair skin gave him away all too quickly.

Dr. McCartney grinned.

"Nah, we're having a look at the riffs on the west side today. I thought you might want to use the opportunity to have a look at the coral-reef environment – I heard someone saying the coral bloom would start tonight, so we're probably staying out quite long. The area is perfect for snorkeling. And if you worry about your stomach-" he threw his young student a truly amused look and Scott couldn't help but blush right again, _damnit_, this man made him feel like his father when he was six – "My wife has prepared lunch _and_ dinner for us."

"I'd really like to come!" Scott almost stumbled over the words. It didn't happen all too often that Dr. McCartney took him out to the riffs – normally, they'd research on plants and sea life near the coast or outside the lagoon. Scott loved the ocean. He had been born at the coast and had spent his entire summer at the beach. He was fascinated by every single animal swimming in the wide waters (except for sharks, for some reason, he just didn't like them but he wasn't afraid of them), every plant, every living and dead stone. He hadn't been a brilliant student in High-School but he had worked hard. And it had paid itself well. He couldn't imagine working somewhere else, and he didn't want to work with someone else than Dr. McCartney.

Seeing the light of expectation glow in the eyes of his student, Lewis chuckled.

"We'll leave at four from the usual place. Make sure to bring your stuff."

And off he went.

He would be just like Dr. McCartney once, Scott decided. He wanted to be just as amazing, friendly and brilliant as the other Oceanographer.

* * *

When he reached the harbor in the afternoon, his teacher was nowhere to be seen. The _Mermaid's Dream_, Dr. McCartney's small research vessel, was rocking softly in the rhythm of the crashing waves. Scott, familiar with the modified sailing boat, carefully placed his pack on deck and climbed behind even more careful. He landed on the wooden planks with an audible _plunk._ Soft steps and a call made him look up.

"Lewis?"

Cleo McCartney was a small woman with vivid green eyes and brown locks that still framed her face like it must have done when she was a young girl. Oddly, she didn't even look like forty. She was small but well-built, with a nice figure and an expressive, beautiful and tanned face.

"Oh hey, Scott! Lewis will be here soon. Did you bring your scuba-gear?"

"Hi, Mrs. McCartney. Yes, I brought it. Are you coming with us, too?"

She smiled, a smile that made her look even younger. She couldn't be going towards fifty, she just didn't look like it. _Everyone_ agreed that Dr. McCartney's wife either had found the secret of eternal life or was _way_ younger than everyone thought she must be. And she was _pretty ._Many men turned their head when she passed (as long as Dr. McCartney wasn't near) and Scott couldn't help but blush.

"Of course I'm coming," she said.

_Of course._

She always accompanied her husband on his boat trips. They seemed to spend every free minute together, which was strange in itself, if cute. No man Scott knew was able to spend so much time with his wife like Dr. McCartney did, not even Scott's father had been like this. And Don Weber had cared for his wife well until she had died of cancer last year. No, Cleo McCartney went where her husband went, especially on sea. But – and here was the obligatory _but_ – only if nobody else was with them. Not even Scott had been allowed to accompany Dr. McCartney whenever he took his wife on a trip or whenever his wife accompanied him. Only after she had explicitly invited him along once he had been allowed to go with them, a thing that made him unbelievably proud and had caused some uproar among the assistants. And it wasn't as if they were hiding something. From what Scott could see, every single one of their research trips was similar: He and Dr. McCartney would do their work, dive, swim and research, while Mrs. McCartney watched them from a distance. She read, slept or merely watched them – and sometimes, she only watched the ocean. Scott had seen her once, her eyes lost in the blue mirror of the sea, something on her face he couldn't read. Was it longing? Maybe. They didn't talk much and smiled a lot, those two. And the same way Cleo watched the ocean and her working husband, Scott caught his teacher watch his wife. The chemistry between the two of them was palpable but never got tense for him. Their relationship almost was too harmonic to be true, Laura, his last girl-friend, had said when he took her on the New Year's Party in the Institute. Too sweet, too calm. It wasn't normal, Laura stated. Couples had to fight at times in order to keep their relationship stable. There had to be _fire and storm_, how she had called it, and that wasn't what the people saw when they watched the McCartney's. Actually, they were like the ocean,never-ending, unchanging and entirely themselves, Ben had agreed. _And old and plain boring_. Scott secretly had thought that the young meteorologist was a dork and had no right whatsoever to judge his teacher and his wife. Well, Laura had found his image _heart-warming_ (she obviously hadn't heard the ending of his whispered comment) and now she was going out with Ben.

Cleo McCartney had crossed the distance between them and grabbed one of his bags from the deck. Her fresh smell – she smelled like the sea, like wind and water and waves – drifted over and Scott grabbed the other bags.

"No, Mrs. McCartney, please, I can carry them-"

"Didn't I tell you to call me Cleo?" She interrupted him, smiling. "It's okay, don't worry. I'm not that old yet. Come on. We'll get the equipment checked before Lewis comes, then we'll be able to start immediately."

Together, they prepared the boat for take-off. Cleo had a little towel slung across her shoulders, as always. Today, it was bright red, a color that suited her well. They followed the same unspoken rules as always: while she checked the engine below deck and the GPS equipment in the cabin, he controlled the sails, the ropes and the equipment on deck. The first thing he had learned when he had first set his foot on this boat was simple: Never, ever, _under any circumstances_ was Cleo to touch water.

* * *

Yes, they were odd.

The scientist and his wife who both loved the ocean. But Cleo never touched water.

Scott had learned two things in his childhood. The first one was that he didn't promise things he couldn't keep. The second was that he would hold secrets that didn't belong to him and never talk about them. One time someone had betrayed him – and he had learned from it. People had their own ways of life, their own secrets – Scott didn't ask for them. Everyone could do what he wanted. And if someone did something the way he did it, it was his problem and no one else's.

Not that it would have made a difference.

Cleo McCartney was being watched carefully from every man inside the Institute – including the house-keepers, the dolphin-trainers, the animal keepers and the assistants. She was just too beautiful to _not_ catch the eye. But she was being watched by the female fraction, too. _She is weird_, they would whisper. Thanks to Laura, Scott had heard a lot of those kinds of gossip. Once, he had raised his voice. It had been something that hadn't ever happened before, and everyone had stared at him in bewilderment. But he couldn't listen any longer. _She is odd_, they gushed behind the doors. _She never is forty-seven. What does she do for a living? And where does she come from? They say Dr. McCartney brought her here from Australia, but she doesn't look Australian. How Australians look? Why, I don't know, but definitely not like her._ _And the way she never swims when the annual barbecues on the beach take place? Weird. Is she afraid of water or what. And the way she disappeared after Jack accidentally spilled water on her dress? Heavens, it was only _water_. No need to lock herself in the lab. And she always goes on trips with her husband but when someone else invites her on a boat trip she refuses. And she _smiles_ while she does so. What is wrong with her?_ After his little slip of tongue, Laura had held her tongue and he hadn't caught on as much gossip as he had before. But all those people were stupid. So what if she didn't like water touching her bare skin? Other people wore Ed Hardy tee shirts or were afraid of snakes. And really, a person as nice as Cleo McCartney didn't deserve people gossiping about her like that.

Scott finished his inspection right as heavy footsteps were heard on the ship's other side. Dr. Lewis McCartney came down therunway, carrying his old, battered rucksack and his scuba gear. He grinned at Scott and jumped onto the ship like a young man.

"Ready for take-off, Scott?"

"Ready," he replied and nodded at the cabin. But Cleo was already being seen in the small entrance.

"Hey, Lewis," she said and Scott wondered again and again how her smile would light up even more radiantly as soon as she saw her husband. Dr. McCartney seemed just as happy.

"Let's take her out and have a late lunch at the riff," he proposed. "Scott? I hope you're hungry, Cleo has packed the entire fridge."

"I haven't," she contradicted, smiling. "But let's take her out. I guess you're not the only one who's hungry."

Scott's stomach growled and he blushed. Cleo laughed. Like his mother, she had a way of laughing that didn't make him feel like she was laughing _about_ him. He smiled back.

* * *

A few hours later he was floating through the water, the diving gear packed on his back, his camcorder strapped to his right hand. Here, in the water, he felt more alive than on land. His limping didn't matter anymore, he could move as he wished. Even the smallest movement with his flippers brought him forward.

Fish were all around him.

All colors, all kinds, passing by in the eerie silence of the rushing ocean. The coral reef was blinking and glowing just a reach of his hand beneath him. To his right, Dr. McCartney was focusing on something Scott couldn't see. Here, underneath the surface, he seemed even more at home as in his lab in the Institute. Scott had always thought Dr. McCartney was a bit like those odd scientists in stories: he always concentrated on a project one hundred percent, no less. He could work until far into the night, start early in the morning and never lose his good mood. He was absolutely devoted to his studies and his papers were globally read, cited and accredited. Scott only dared to hope to be like him one day. He wasn't brilliant as Dr. McCartney, but he knew he loved the ocean at least as much as this scientist before him. He could spend days at the beach and weeks in the lab, searching, analyzing, researching. Maybe he would become a good scientist once, maybe even one like Dr. McCartney.

_Hopefully._

Scott directed the camcorder from his surroundings to the ocean bed and his heart beat faster. He _loved_ his job. He loved the ocean. He loved the sea.

Someone touched him at his shoulder and he realized Dr. McCartney was nudging him. Following the signs of his teacher, he realized they had been under water for quite a long time. Forcing his breath to remain calm, he nodded at his teacher as he made the sign for surfacing. Together, they rose from the depths of the ocean back to a warm summer evening. The sun was slowly setting in the west.

From aboard of the _Mermaid's Dream_, Cleo was watching them surface with a smile.

"Forgot the time, eh?" She called down. "Those are my scientists."

"I beg to defer," her husband answered and shook his head in mock-disgust as he started to climb aboard the ship with flapping flippers. "_I _am your scientist. Scott is _mine_ – or, at least he will be until I decide to let him get his doctor title!"

He stepped onto the boat and his wife backed away a few meters, smiling brightly.

"You know why you aren't a doctor yet, Scott?" She called down to him.

"Because then, he'll lose me as his assistant?" Scott asked, also climbing the ladder but needing exceedingly more time. He was getting used to the playful tone between the two of them and sometimes even fell into it naturally.

"No," Cleo answered seriously. "Because he knows you'll replace him and then he'll have to spend his days as a retired scientist, fishing and meddling with his boat and murmuring about the youth these days…"

Her husband snorted and turned his back to her. Laughing, she threw them a few towels.

"Get dry, we'll have dinner."

* * *

Diving always made him hungry, Scott realized.

He also realized how familiar he felt with Cleo and Dr. McCartney. As the evening draw nearer, the talk grew slower and then almost stopped entirely. They had turned on the lamps and the soft, yellow light spread across the deck. A few insects, drawn in, fluttered against the lamp. The sound of the ocean was soothing. The boat moved softly, rocking from one side to another. Scott felt the warmth of the summer night seep into his bones and make his head dizzy. He was almost asleep when he caught Dr. McCartney whispering something that sounded like "…Are you crazy?"

Carefully, he opened his eyes to see Cleo gaze at her husband intently.

"I want to swim, Lewis. It's coral bloom tonight, you know it."

"But you can watch it from up here…"

She reached out and touched his face. He fell silent. For a few seconds, there was only the sound of the wind and the water, then, Dr. McCartney sighed.

"Fine. You'd do it anyway. And you're sure you'll do it even though he's here?"

Her smile was even more beautiful in the darkness.

"You trust him."

Now fully awake, Scott carefully sat up. His chair creaked, and both people turned around. He felt like he had been spying on them without wanting to but he didn't find words to explain himself. And if he did, would they believe he was just defending himself?

He didn't need to worry.

"Ah, you're awake," Cleo said and smiled in his direction. "You know, I was thinking of going for a swim. It's the coral bloom tonight and there is nothing more beautiful in the world than it."

She wanted to swim? The woman who avoided water like the devil avoided holy water wanted to _swim_?

"But you can see the coral bloom from up here."

She laughed quietly. "It's more beautiful from below." Turning back to Dr. McCartney, she threw him a questioning look. "Are you coming?"

He sighed, but his face was tender. "Of course."

"Fine." Cleo clapped her hands. "Want to come with us or stay here?"

Scott shrugged. He couldn't help it: curiosity was getting the better of him. "I'll join you."

"Then get ready."

Scott started to collect his scuba-gear and heard Dr. McCartney doing the same. When he was ready, he was facing his mentor in his diving-suit and his mentor's wife in her skirt and blouse. "I thought you wanted to swim?" He asked, irritated. She laughed quietly.

"Oh, Scott. You'll see." Stepping to the railing, she smiled at her husband. "I'll wait for you down there." Then, she lifted her hands above her head and jumped.

Scott couldn't even open his mouth in surprise – it happened so fast. One moment she was standing next to him, the next she was gone. The ocean rippled softly but nothing else happened. A few seconds passed.

"She's not surfacing!" He exclaimed, horrified. "Something has happened to her!"

"Just get down," Dr. McCartney said and let himself fall over the railing. His heart beating furiously, Scott followed.

* * *

Cleo had been right.

The coral bloom was beautiful. In the soft light of the moon, the plants seemed to glow (some of them actually did) and the sea bed seemed alive. Beautiful plants of stone were stretching their arms towards the moonlight and were slowly opening up. Hadn't Scott been so afraid for Cleo, he would have enjoyed every second. Hastily, he turned his head to and fro to make her out, detachedly wondering why Dr. McCartney hadn't even looked worried when she had jumped. Something touched his shoulder and he almost jumped – the equivalent of jumping in the water was a swirling motion that carried him around but wasn't enough to face his mentor. He turned into the same direction Dr. McCartney was looking – and then he saw her.

_God. _

In the middle of a cloud of silver coral pollen and dust, a figure was floating. It didn't have the same plump figure of a diver in gear and yet the silky hair flowing around its head was too human to belong to anything else than a woman. But the fishtail _definitely_ wasn't human.

_Oh God._

If their colleagues had known _this_, they _definitely_ would have a new topic of gossip for the next four weeks.

The woman with the fishtail smiled and waved a hand at them. Her tail was moving in a soft rhythm, the same as her hands. All around her, silvery dust was swirling and dancing, making it seem as if she was swimming in pure moonlight. Scott had seldom seen something more beautiful than the sight of Cleo McCartney in the water.

Of course, that explained a lot.

Why she didn't touch water, for instance, and why she still loved the ocean so much. Why nobody was allowed to accompany her and her husband on their trips. Why they never went swimming at the beach and why she looked so beautiful. Or, at least, that could be a reason. Mermaids were creatures of fairy-tales – maybe they had eternal lives? Maybe they possessed extraordinary beauty?

"Wow," his lips formed, quiet and awestruck. Then, his head whipped around to Dr. McCartney. His mentor threw him a small smile and shrugged, a _what-should-I-do-_gesture before his gaze returned to his wife who now was swimming back and forth, dancing in the moonlight, bathing in the silver pollen with an absent expression on her face. And the smile on Dr. McCartney's expression was as awed as his. Only the depth of love varied.

* * *

They spent the night on the rocking boat on the reefs. Early in the morning, when the sun started setting in the east with a brilliant display of colors, Scott woke up to find someone had wrapped a blanket around him during the night. He carefully sat up to find Dr. McCartney sleeping in the other chair while Cleo was watching him from the railing, now wearing a warm pullover.

"Good morning," she smiled at him. "How have you slept?"

"Great," He answered truthfully. Then he rubbed his eyes and looked at her again, mustering her from head to toe.

"I'm plain normal when I'm dry," she said and chuckled. "Don't worry."

The scientist in him had already started to ask questions before his brain was fully functional again.

"Since when does it happen? How did it start? Does it happen every time? Of course it does. Are there other people like you? How can it be?"

The woman leaned back over the railing and her face turned serious. "I'm not going to answer all of your questions, Scott. I can just tell you that much: It happened long ago and in a place that doesn't exist anymore. There are others like me, yes, but you don't need to know anything about them. We appreciate our privacy, you know, everything else would end… well, _uncomfortably_ probably is an understatement. Do you understand?"

"But," he protested. "That's a really great gift! Just imagine how much you could do if the people knew about this – what you could change! You could go public, you could…"

"I knew he'd start like this," a voice growled from the other armchair. "He won't keep it a secret, Cleo. You shouldn't have shown him."

"He's just like you," Cleo told her husband with a tender smile and turned serious again when she looked back at Scott. "You realize what would happen, don't you? They would put me in a lab, experiment on me, find my friends and force them to participate in tests and everything… We're normal people like you, Scott. We don't want to live in labs and let people pour water on us just to find out _how_ we change."

Scott still wanted to protest reflexively, but slowly his brain was catching up. She was right. He was a scientist, he knew how the system worked. And suddenly he just wanted to shut his mouth and never mention it again.

"Sorry," he mumbled, deeply ashamed, and lowered his head. Cleo's melodic laugh echoed along the ship.

"It's fine. I know you won't tell anyone."

Pride welled up inside him – she trusted him. Then, she stood up and stretched her arms above her head. "I don't know about you, but I need a coffee." She cast them questioning looks. "What about you?"

"Yes, please," Scott answered and Dr. McCartney nodded. Cleo disappeared in the cabin and left the two men alone on deck.

"So," Dr. McCartney cleared his throat. "You're going to keep your word?"

"Yes," Scott said, totally convinced. Yes, he would keep their secret because he liked them. Because Dr. McCartney was his mentor and his idol and because he owed it to him. Because Laura, Ben and all those women and men in the institute didn't matter, because the entire world didn't matter. He would keep their secret because it was them, the odd couple, the scientist and his wife.

He stared out into the arriving day and remembered the way the water had pearled from her skin, the way her hair had floated around her in the water and her hands had danced in the moonlight.

She was beautiful, even more so in the water.

"Careful, young man,"Dr. McCartney warned him, a strange tone in his voice, and he looked up in surprise. "I know that face. Don't get stupid ideas."

Scott didn't blush. Maybe he had grown up since last night. He just nodded. Cleo poked her head out of the cabin.

"Breakfast's ready!"

Getting up, he followed Dr. McCartney through the small door.

* * *

Yes, they were odd.

Not strange, or weird. Strange implied they weren't normal, weird hinted at something unusual and slightly negative. No, _odd_ definitely was the word for it and Scott Weber was quite sure he wasn't the only one who thought like that.

But he probably was one of the few privileged to know what _really _was behind Lewis and Cleo McCartney's secret.

And, for some reason, it didn't make him think they were strange. Their happiness was a star he would aim at in his own life, so one day he would sit there with his wife and still feel the magic around the two of them.

_That _was it.

They were magical.

The scientist and his mermaid wife.


End file.
